


The Sex Lives of Stage Hypnotists

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Clubbing, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hypnotism, Journalism, Master/Slave, Mind Games, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: A sex columnist agrees to interview a stage hypnotist... but he displays some strange power over her mind and body.





	1. Chapter 1

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

**Philadelphia, 1997.**

It was a warm Thursday night.  I was taxi’ing to the townhouse of Helen and Sal Lomax, two friends of my boss, William T. Glass.  The Lomaxes are hosting an informal dinner party, and where William thinks I might find material for my next column.  Apparently Wendy O’Sullivan, one of that last 1940-era southern debutantes, will be there.  By now, she must be seventy years old, and I was skeptical she’ll have much for me.  But William was right, a lead is a lead.

I straightened my party dress, one of the three I own.  I am Chrissie McClullen, but my readers know me as Samantha Sass.  William picked out that name, don’t blame me.  My column is “Hook Up,” a sex-and-culture feature floating in the back of City Paper’s Life section.  I am twenty-seven, young for a feature writer, but old enough to understand that you have to constantly farm for new material.

“Hook Up” is in its third year.  The first two years were easy enough.  I have always found it easy to talk and write about sex, and at first it was easy to think of topics.  I’ve always loved new experiences, so I knew a lot – **_a lot_** – about sex.

But lately I’ve found it harder to put pen to paper.  I’ve done all the usual topics and I’m growing exhausted searching out the weird ones.  Last month I attended an S&M convention, and I was dismayed to find there wasn’t a single damn thing I wanted to write about.

I sighed, watching the city roll by my window.  Maybe it was time to pack it in.  Maybe “Hook Up” had had its day.  For Christsakes, I was my boss’s “plus one” for this stuffy dinner party, all in the hopes of interviewing an old lady about the misogynistic sexual mores of fifty years ago.  I should have been excited at this opportunity.

*********************

Wendy O’Sullivan was a fat ol’ dame, delightfully stuffed into a billowing dress that certainly looked southern to me.  She only lacked a parasol and mint julip.  Her face was flushed with brandy, and her voice was blaring and loud.  I liked her instantly.

Helen and Sal Lomax had invited maybe ten people over, including William The Boss and me.  I was easily the youngest person there, although there was this other guy named Don who looked to be in his early thirties.  It came out over dinner that Don was a stage hypnotist, which made some people nervous.

After an overcooked meal, we reconvened in the living room.  Helen poured us all a glass of an excellent desert wine.  I made my move on Wendy.  The old gal was seated in an easy chair, like a queen at court.  I plopped down in the nearest seat to her, on the couch.  Don that hypnotist guy sat next to me.

“So Wendy,” I began, hoping I seemed friendly, “it sounds like you’ve lead quite a life.”

“P’haps,” Wendy replied.  She eyed me, and for once that evening, fell silent.

“William said perhaps you could tell me some stories about… what it was like being a teenager in 1940’s Georgia,” I prompted.  This was the worst possible way to interview a new subject, but I was having a difficult time reading Wendy.

The southerner frowned.  “Mississippi,” she corrected me.

“Mississippi, forgive me,” I said quickly.

“You wanna talk about the debutante balls?” Wendy snapped.  “Northerner a’ways want t’hear how we s’thern folk auh more backwards than a Z-to-A alphabet.”

I made one more attempt:  “I am curious about what it was like for you, back in the day.”

“Back in th’ day?” Wendy was offended now.

“No, no,” I said quickly, but the damage was done.  Wendy wasn’t talking to me.

At some point in the evening, Sal placed a single folding chair in the center of the room.  It faced Wendy, so I sat there, hoping to convince her I was an okay gal.

The party dragged on for another hour.  Wendy kept glancing in my direction, but her expression made it clear she didn’t want to speak with me.

*********************

The next day was Friday, copy review day.  William The Boss liked to stuff all of his feature writers in a single conference room and tell them how their latest work wasn’t good enough.  When he got to me, I had to admit that my “Life as a Debutante” column was dead.

“Okay,” William scowled, gazing at the ceiling.  “What else do you got?”

I had something in the works about young couples who role-played as cartoon characters… but that one needed more development.

William wasn’t satisfied.  “Your problem, Chrissie,” he told me, “is that you pick these topics which require you to interview lots of weirdos.  What you need is one big weirdo, someone prominent.  Then you have one interview and **_bam!_** you’re done.”

“Okay,” I said, squirming a little.  Everyone was staring at me.

William broke into a grin.  “Hey,” he said, “what about that stage hypnotist guy from last night?  Don?  You remember him?”

“Stage hypnotist?” exclaimed Claire, our etiquette writer.

I groaned a little.  “That guy?  But… hypnosis is so **_fake_**.”

William’s eyes lit up as he thought aloud.  “No, its perfect for you.”  He gestured with his hand, imaging a great big headline in the air.  “I see it now:  ‘The Sex Lives of Stage Hypnotists.’  When he zaps his female subjects, does he shag them in his dressing room?  How does he date?  Does he hypnotize his girlfriends?  Does he convince them he was a four foot dick?”

The man might be one of the best editors on the East Coast, but William could be a total prat sometimes.  I pressed my lips together feeling the blood rush to my cheeks.

“William,” I said carefully.  “Hypnotism is a total crock.  The guy’s a con artist.”

“Then that’s your angle,” countered William.  “Call him up.  Have coffee.  Get the goods.”

“And don’t look into his eyes,” added Gil, an arts reporter.  Several colleagues snickered.

*********************

Tracking down Don’s answering service was a little challenging, but luckily Helen Lomax pointed me in the right direction.  By lunchtime, I was on the phone with Don.

“Hello again,” he said.

“Hello,” I replied.  Reeling in a source sometimes required a little over-the-phone flirting.  “Listen, I had such a good time meeting you last night.”

In truth, I doubt I said three words to Don last night.  Hypnotists are dishonest people.

I went on:  “I don’t know if I told you, but I write a regular column for City Paper and I was wondering if we could have coffee?  My readers would like to hear about your exciting life.”

I could hear Don chuckle.  “You’d be surprised,” he said.  “Listen, I’m booked with shows for most of the weekend.  Then I’m back on the road for the rest of the year.  Coffee would be tough.”

“Ah,” I said.

“I have an idea, though,” Don proposed.  “I have an open show tonight at the Marcos Club.  Its off South Street.  Why don’t you come and watch from the back of the house?  That way you can see what I do and we can grab a drink after.”

He added quickly: “Just for an interview, of course.”

I rolled my eyes.  I was supposed to meet Gil, my latest boyfriend, for a movie tonight.  I really didn’t want to cancel.  More to the point, I’m in no mood to see this slickster’s stupid show.

On the other hand… I had nothing for the next “Hook Up,” and my deadline was Monday EOB.  Work before pleasure.

“Sure.”  I faked a little enthusiasm.  “What time?”

*********************

I called Gil and broke the bad news.  He was bummed, but decided to catch a movie with his pals.  Its just as well.  I didn’t want to drag Gil to a dive like the Marcos.

So I went home, exercised, showered, then I pulled on some underwear, my better beige pants with the white blouse and matching coat.  I wanted to look professional, not like I’m out on a date.  After a touch of makeup, I grabbed another taxi.

To my surprise, Don arranged for a comp’ed ticket for me, plus a free drink.  I ordered a diet soda and sat at a table in the very back of the cramped theatre space.  The stage was narrow and barely three feet off the ground.  A row a folding chairs plus a mike on a stand were all that was on the stage.  Young couples and small groups of friends were filing in.

I suppressed a wave of impatience and wondered how long my night would be.

*********************

Eventually the tiny house was packed.  The lights dimmed.  Rock music blared through the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a booming voice shouted through the PA, “please welcome that Master Mesmerist: Don “the Man” Damacio!”

With a burst of energy, Don appeared on stage, wearing a sharp suit.  He was poised, confident, so cocky.  In a flash, I remembered how much I disliked him.  Well, how much I disliked hypnotists in general.

Reluctantly, I admitted to myself that he looked handsome.  Like the world’s best car salesman.

For the first time, I paused to study Don.  He had a small body type, compact and muscular.  Probably not much taller than me.  His face was lean, framing his almond brown eyes quite nicely.  Don had sandy brown hair, neatly cut and combed.  And unlike most men I knew, he knew how to dress himself.  If he wasn’t a hypnotist, I might have been attracted to him.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Don said smoothly.  He was in command of that stage.  “You guys are in for the night of your life.  By a show of hands, how many people here think they can be hypnotized?”

Four or five timid hands floated up.

“Okay,” acknowledged Don.  “Now: how many people think they can **_never_** be hypnotized?”

Almost everyone in the audience raised their hands.  After a second’s consideration, I added mine.  I really wanted to be somewhere else.

“Alright, we’ve got some skeptics in the house,” the hypnotist admitted.  “Totally healthy.  But what if I told you folks **_that hypnotism is totally real_** and using it, I can completely fuck with you?  You want to see some proof?”

Shouts of “yeah!” popped up in the audience.

Don straightened his back.  He extended his left hand forward…

…and pointed it straight at me.  From across the tiny theatre, our gazes locked.

“You there, miss,” he said.  “Would you come up on stage, please?”

People swiveled around to gawk in my direction.  I turned bright red.

So humiliating!  I shook my head firmly.

The audience smirked and chuckled.

“Hmm,” Don mused, still staring straight at me.  “Let’s try that again.”

His voice lowered, becoming more powerful.  “You will rise from your chair,” he told me, “and join me on stage.”

My thoughts clouded.  I felt my expression go slack.  On their own, my legs stood and then walked me through the tiny audience, weaving between the mesh of tables and customers.  My arms hung loosely by my side.  I could only look forward at Don.

As I walked, I felt a strange calm, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  I couldn’t have resisted Don’s summons if I wanted to… but inside I didn’t want to.  I had to go to him.

The audience fell into a stunned silence.  In the corner of my eyes, I could see people staring up at me.  I passed them without ever breaking my gaze with Don.

Then I was up on the stage.  I stood before him, my shoulders and hips square, my arms dangling free.  I stared blankly at Don.

“Thank you,” Don said absently.  He put one hand on my shoulder.  “Tell me, what is your name?”

“Chrissie,” I heard myself reply.

“Have you ever been hypnotized before, Chrissie?”

“No,” I said.

Don grinned.  “Have you and I ever met before?”

“No,” I said again.

Deep down inside, I knew I was lying.  I couldn’t help it.  The fib escaped from my lips with no conscious thought on my part.

“Okay, Chrissie,” Don said.  He snapped his fingers before my eyes.  “ ** _Sleep!_** ”

I’m not entirely sure what happened next.  My eyes sagged shut and my entire body went limp.  I experienced a wonderful relaxation from head to toe, a relaxation so powerful that my body sighed with delight as it took hold.  I felt myself falling forward, yet I didn’t care.

And then I was physically leaning against Don’s thin, muscular body.  Somehow his arm was around my waist.  My entire weight was resting snuggly against him.  With my eyes closed, my head rested neatly on his shoulder.  I could sense his lungs breathe and heart beat within his chest.  His smell filled my nostrils.  I sighed, and my muscles relaxed even deeper.

“Excellent,” Don said.  I heard gasps of amazement from the audience.  One guy actually said, “Holy shit…!” apparently unaware he was speaking out loud.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my friend Chrissie here is deeply hypnotized,” bragged Don.  “While she is under my spell, she will do or say or believe anything I tell her.  She is aware of everything yet will only respond to my voice.  She will follow and obey all of my suggestions without any qualms.”

I listened to all of this without any objection.  This relaxation felt **_so good_**.  All I wanted was to bask in it and let Don fill my mind with instruction.

“Let me show you what I mean,” Don went on.  “Chrissie, in a moment, I will awaken you.  You will return from hypnosis without any conscious memory of being hypnotized.  Furthermore…”

He went on, telling me how I would think and what I would do once he released me from his spell.  I listened passively.  Everything sounded just fine.

And then I heard Don counting, higher and higher.  On the number “ten,” he snapped his fingers loudly, twice.

*********************

My eyelids fluttered open.  Momentarily disoriented, I stood up, wondering why my body felt so good.  I brushed the hair from my eyes.

Oh yeah.  I remembered.  Don the hypnotist had asked me to come up on stage, I guess to be hypnotized.  Or something.  He seemed like a nice guy.

“Hi Chrissie,” smiled Don.

“Hey Don,” I returned.  “So… do you want me to sit in one of these chairs?”

The audience giggled somewhat.  I could feel them watching me closely, for some reason.  I didn’t care.

“Naw, don’t worry about that,” Don told me.  “Let’s just talk.”

“Sure,” I agreed.  Sounded reasonable.

I had a sudden nagging feeling in the back of my head.  It was hot up on this stage.  Really hot.  I absently flapped the top of my blouse, wishing I had a fan.

“Everything alright?” Don asked.

“You know what…” I groused.  “I put on too much before I went out tonight.”

An idea occurred to me.  “Hey,” I asked Don, “you mind if I take off my clothes?”

Don swung his gaze to mug towards the audience.  “Well,” he said in mock consideration, “we’re all adults here, right?  Do what you’ve gotta do.”

Relieved, I yanked off my coat and kicked off my high heels.  Seconds later, I unzipped my pants and pulled them off.  The blouse was last.

Oh, the warm air felt great on my bare skin!  I tossed my blouse aside and stretched my back.

Only then did I realize what I was wearing.  I didn’t remember selecting them, but I was wearing the black lace lingerie I had picked up from a fetish party column last year.  The bra was tight but comfortable, but the panties were barely strings.  Both of my buttocks were out there, totally exposed.  They felt great.  I felt great.

The audience gawked at me.  People murmured to one another in amazement.  I distinctly heard one woman say, “Holy shit, he’s **_got_** her!”

Don smiled and pulled the mike from the stand.  “Listen Chrissie,” he said, “we need to get this hypnosis show off the ground.  Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” I gushed.  I thought Don was wonderful.

“Can you take the mike and tell these folks that if they come up on stage, they will experience a mind-blowing like they have never known?  They will be the stars of the show, and they’ll love every minute of it.  Because hypnosis is awesome, right?”

“Hypnosis is awesome,” I agreed.

Don handed me the mike.  The instant my fingers closed around it, I felt this strange enthusiasm for what I was about to do.

“Listen, you guys,” I said excitedly to the audience.  “You have **_no idea_** how much fun it is to be hypnotized!  If you come up here, I swear you’ll have the time of your life!”

In my excitement, I practically jumped up and down.  I could feel my breasts bouncing in their cups.

One or two guys were climbing up onto the stage and sitting in the chairs.  I beamed at them.

“That’s right,” I went on.  “Ladies, don’t be shy!  Hypnosis is awesome for us to!  Why, when you’re hypnotized, you… have no idea how much fun you will have!”

“Like you?” a fat man said from a nearby table.

“Like me?” I echoed.  “Oh, no, I’m not hypnotized.  I can’t be hypnotized.”

This produced gales of laughter.  I didn’t get what was so funny.

Don tapped me on the shoulder.  “When I snap my fingers,” he told me, “you’ll want to volunteer, too.”  He snapped his fingers.

“Of course, I’ll volunteer,” I promise the fat man.  “I don’t know if hypnosis will work on me, but I’m game to try!”

Somehow the ice was broken.  People were filtering up onto the stage, taking seats.  I squeezed between to larger guys, both of whom stared at my cleavage.  I was so excited to be part of the show.

*********************

Within ten minutes, everyone on stage was out and under Don’s spell.  I guess I was too, although I don’t remember being hypnotized.

The rest of the show is blurry in my mind.  I do remember sitting with all the volunteers later and we **_all_** were in our underwear.  Don told us we were porno stars, and we dry-humped one another while he shouted directions.  I had completely lost control and was happy to do whatever he told me.

And then, the show was over.  We volunteers were picking out our clothes from the pile on the floor and getting ready to go back to regular society.  The audience applauded for us as if we were Super Bowl champs.  I liked that feeling.

It was only as I stepped off the stage (fully clothed) that I remembered; the whole point of this evening was to interview Don for my column.  I hoped he was still available.

*********************


	2. Chapter 2

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

The audience filed out, and barmen converted the theatre section into a makeshift dance floor.  The pulsing music grew louder.  I stood off to the side, still feeling really weird.  Had I just gotten hypnotized in my underwear before a crowd of total strangers?

For some reason, my mind felt… distracted.  I had that sensation you have while in a dream… the world seemed abstract, not completely real.  I wondered if I was still hypnotized somehow.

I felt a tug on my elbow.  Don was by my side, grinning.

“There you are,” he said.  “You were great.”

“Uh, thanks,” I said.

I should have felt totally embarrassed, considering all the crazy stuff he had just made me do.  Strangely, I wasn’t.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I asked, “Can we get that coffee now?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” he countered.  “They give me a tiny dressing room in the back.  Let’s talk there.”

I thought Don was, like, the greatest guy ever.

“Yeah,” I said.  “Let’s talk there.”

He led me backstage, and I followed like a puppy.  We walked down the world’s narrowest corridor, and into a room which couldn’t have been four feet by three feet.  The bare walls were exposed brick.  There was a sofa crammed against the far wall, a mirror to one side, one backpack on the floor, and not much else.  We barely squeeze in, so he can shut the door.

Instantly the pounding music was muffled.

“That’s better,” Don breathed.

“Yes,” I sighed, aware of how close our bodies are to one another.  “Can we do that interview now?”

“Interview?” Don repeated.  “Oh yeah.  For your sex column.”  He grinned, a naughty expression.  “You want to talk about my sex life, you mean.”

His presence was intoxicating in such close quarters.  “Yeah,” I said, trying to clear my jumbled thoughts.  “I mean…”

Don stood closer.  “Why are we talking?” he asked.  “Why don’t I **_show_** you my sex life?”

“Show me?” I asked.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

I felt my senses start to fade as his eyes grew larger.  How was he doing that?

“Just relax,” he told me.

I couldn’t break his gaze.  Don stepped forward again, and I allowed myself to be backed up against the closed door.  His body was pressed against me.

“Don’t resist me,” whispered Don.

“I can’t,” I said helplessly.

He kissed me, full tongue.  As he body pressed against mine, I felt how hard he was.  His hands gripped my hips.

I was becoming aroused.  “Wait,” I panted when the kiss broke.  “I want to-“

“You want to remove your pants and panties,” Don told me, in his hypnotic voice.

I blinked.  It was true.  I did want to remove all my clothes below my waist.  On their own, my fingers were unbuckling my pants for the second time that night.  My thumbs snagged the G-string as I pulled them downwards.

And Don knelt before me to draw my pants and panties down to the floor.  I lifted one foot, then the other, and he tossed aside my garments.  Aside from my shoes, I was nude from the waist down.

Oh, I was so wet.  What **_was_** it about this guy?  I rarely dated the people I interviewed for my column; I have **_never_** fucked one of them.  As Don lifted my blouse and began licking my pelvis, I idly wondered why I was throwing myself at him.

“Lift your leg please,” Don said.  I obeyed.  When I was in high school, I did ballet.  I can still do the basic poses.  Now I raised my left leg as high as it would go, supporting it with my hand.

Don moaned and I felt his fingers touch my pussy, ever so gently.  I gasped, leaning back against the door.  His strong hands appeared to support my thighs… and then his tongue entered me.

Oh, wow.  I’ve been eaten out before by boyfriends, but Don was something special.  I swear his tongue **_vibrated_** as it probed me.  I felt my mouth reflexively open as my eyes rolled back in their sockets.

“Oh, **_mother,_** ” escaped from my mouth.

I have no freakin’ clue why I said that.  My mother was the last person I was thinking about at that moment.

Don sucked and slurped, his lips hungrily gulping at me.  Even though I’m a sex columnist and have a degree in Sex and Gender Studies, I had never **_really_** understood the phrase “ _eat her out._ ”  But Don attacked my vagina as if he were determined to physically consume it.  Just without teeth.

As he worked, I felt the orgasm building within me.  I realized: if I cum, can I keep standing like this?  Will my knees hold out?

I tried to speak, tried to warn Don.  All I could manage were excited cries and gasps and yelps of sexual pleasure.  If the club music had been a little softer, I’m sure people would heard me.

I was close, so close.  Could I hold back?  For once in my life, I didn’t want to climax.

But then Don grunted and thrust harder.  His tongue landed square on my spot and caressed it with **_just_** the right amount of pleasure.

My thoughts went blank as I came.  I couldn’t help it.

Oh, did I cum!  I shrieked, clawing at the wall, the door, the air, and finally Don’s hair.  I felt pulses of wonderful pleasure course through my entire body, kissing and lighting up every muscle.  I think my teeth probably rattled to boot.  My fingers and toes sang with triumph.

But my knees did surrender.  Somehow Don was ready.  His arms and hands pushed me up against the door as his greedy jaws kept working me.  I was no longer supporting my own weight; he was.  How he did it, I don’t know.  The boy must do a lot of chest presses.

Don continued to tongue me until my body lost strength and I couldn’t physically take it anymore.  “…please…” I croaked, my mouth dry.

With a heave and a groan, Don lower me back down.  Somehow both my feet connected with the floor and my legs agreed to support me.

The hypnotist wiped his mouth on his sleeve, gazing at me with animal lust.  I stared back, my chest heaving, unable to look at anything but his eyes.

“I want you,” he rasped.

“Yes…” I sighed.

I was in his power.  Whatever he commanded me to do, I had obey.  Memories of the stage show, stripping down to my underwear, giggling at him like a love-struck bimbo, and now surrendering to him here all flood my mind.  None of those things I would have done naturally.  I’ve done them because he somehow controls me.

I sigh, feeling myself **_wanting_** him, wanting him to **_command_** me.  Four years’ of liberal arts feminism gone in the face of his magnetic will.

“Strip naked,” Don tells me.  I do it instantly.

He maneuvered me onto the sofa, then unzipped his pants.  His cock was long and stiff, and I could already smell his cum, ready to fire.

With some clever gymnastics, he lowered himself onto my tummy and then began to fuck my cleavage.  Normally I hate this position, but now I was helpless to accept it.  I raised my hands and pushed my tits together, making the world’s most obscene genital sandwich.  His dick tip popped out again and again at my face.

I studied Don’s face.  I was still horny, but this position was all about **_his_** pleasure.  He gazed at me, his eyes fiery, dominating.  “You… are… my… slave!” he panted.

“I am your slave,” I moaned back.

“Ahhhhhh!!!” he cried, and then he came.  White juice squirted onto my face and my chest.  It was hot and sticky and I felt it running down my skin, leaving a disgusting wake.  I closed my eyes, feeling oddly pleasured myself.

“More,” Don ordered and leapt off me.  He was still hard.  How was that possible?

I climbed up on my hand and knees and Don raised up one of my legs.  He leaned his crotch in, and suddenly he is entering me from the side, plugging his member straight into my vagina.  He thrusts forward and I lean back into his cock; we can pump each other.

I whooped with joy.  Another orgasm is rising within me.  Two within five minutes?

A small part of my mind is still the objective, professional journalist.  I’m a sex columnist, and yet I’ve never done **_this_** position.  Hell, I don’t even know what this position would be called.  Am I not fucking in enough sexual positions?  I made a mental note for another column topic in the future.

Don came quickly, deep within me.  Yet we kept pounding.

I realized he was looking directly at me.  I looked back into his eyes, and although we are banging at top speed, I felt his will take control of my mind.

“Cum **_now!_** ” he orders me.

It was like his words pushed a button.  My pussy exploded with satisfaction and I sang out with grateful delight.  Once again, my fingers and toes are alight.

We fucked one another for a little while longer before he retracted his penis.  I collapsed onto the sofa.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Don tells me.  “We’re going again.”

*********************


	3. Chapter 3

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves a woman becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

I lost track of time.  Don and I fucked each other again and again, each time in a different position.  Given the cramped dimensions of the dressing room, we had to get creative.  No worries, we’re creative people.

And then… we were spent.  He only had so much in him.  And I was worried that my pussy was broken.

“Lie here,” Don ordered me, and somehow we do naked cuddling on that wretched little sofa.  It smelt like beer and semen.

Don said something to me and snapped his fingers and suddenly I was in love, deeply in love with this man.  I mean, I found myself snuggling against his chest and thinking about having kids in the suburbs with him.  I wanted to leave my job, leave my shitty apartment, leave everything just so I could hold him like this for the rest of my life.

My dream man sighs contently.  He gropes for his discarded backpack and fishes out a half-filled pack of cigarettes.  He lights one for himself, then exhales.

Smoking seemed like a terrible idea.  I seriously doubted this dank little room had much circulation.

“You want one?” Don offered.

“Oh,” I demurred, “I don’t smoke.”

“You do today,” said Don firmly, and snapped his fingers before me.  My thoughts momentarily flickered.

“Sure,” I gushed and waited for Don – my Don – to light a second cigarette for me.

We lie wrapped around one another, smoking, saying nothing.

I closed my eyes.  I was so happy.

A part of my brain was confused, but not alarmed.  What power did Don have over me?  My journalist instincts kicked in.  I had to know.

“Hey,” I said, kissing him gently.

“Mmm?” Don responded, exhaling smoke.

“How did you do it?” I said.  “How did you make me your slave?”

Don laughed, his chest shaking the whole sofa.  “I’d forgotten…” he smiled.  “You weren’t supposed to remember that.”

“Remember what?” I asked.

He stretched his free hand upwards and pressed two fingers against my forehead.  “You will remember… **_everything_** ,” he said in his hypnotic voice.

I blink.  My mind is suddenly downloading memories, images and voices and moments that weren’t in my brain a second ago.  It was such a weird experience, I can’t tell you.

I needed a little time to process the new things in my mind.  I think back…

*********************

_I was back in Helen and Sal Lomax’s living room, right after dinner.  I was sitting on the couch next to Wendy O’Sullivan, hoping she will consent to an interview.  Looking wary, Wendy was eyeing me with a frown.  Don is on the other side of the couch._

_I was imploring Wendy:  “I am curious about what it was like for you, back in the day.”_

_“Back in th’ day?” Wendy was offended now._

_“No, no,” I said quickly, but the damage was done._

_Wendy glanced at Don.  “You, sir,” she said, clearly trying to change the subject, “you’re the Hypno-Tist?”_

_“I am,” Don replied gamely._

_Wendy smiled politely.  “Y’have t’explain to me how this Hypno-Tism works.”_

_“Its simple,” shrugged Don.  “You get people to relax.  Once their bodies relax, their minds will relax.  Then their subconscious is accessible.”_

_“Accessible,” repeated Wendy.  You could tell she wasn’t grasping the concept._

_I sat back, resigned to defeat with Wendy.  At least this Don guy is teaching me something new._

_Don tried again:  “Yeah.  A person in a hyperrelaxed state is more open to suggestion, which is what hypnosis is.”_

_“Why,” Wendy drawled, “would anyone want that?”_

_The others were now listening closely._

_“Its fun,” Don said.  “Being hypnotized is fun.  Its permission to do something silly, something weird, something dumb you wouldn’t normally do.”_

_“Ah do dumb things all th’ time,” Wendy joked.  “Don’t mean I’m Hypno-Tized.”  She pronounced the word as if having never encountered it before._

_Don waved his hand.  “People also like it for the relaxation,” he continued.  “One hour of hypnosis is the equal of eight hours’ full sleep.”_

_Wendy’s eyebrows shot up.  And I’ll admit I was impressed too._

_“Is tha’ right?” Wendy exclaimed._

_“Oh yeah,” said Don.  “People wake up from hypnosis fully rested, feeling rejuvenated.  If you give them suggestions to help them in their day-to-day lives, like stopping smoking or exercising more, they wake up feeling like a million bucks.”_

_That sounded awesome to me._

_Wendy smiled politely, but you could tell she wasn’t fully comprehending.  “Ah just don’ see how telling someone t’ go t’ sleep can do all tha’.”_

_Don held up both hands.  “You just have to see it in action, I guess,” he said._

_The reporter in me saw opportunity._

_“You can do it to me,” I volunteered._

_Don’s almond brown eyes swung to regard me.  “Really?” he asked._

_“Sure,” I said, feeling fearless.  Why not?  I wasn’t getting an interview out of Wendy.  Might as well experience something new.  I’ve always loved new experiences._

_“You see?” Don told Wendy.  “Once people hear the benefits of hypnosis, they want it.”_

_Under Don’s direction, Sal pulled a folding chair out of a closet and set it up in the center of the living room.  Don instructed me to sit there, leaving my purse and wine to the side.  Helen turned off the jazz._

_I felt oddly excited.  “What do I do?” I asked Don._

_He stood directly before me.  “Look at me,” he ordered.  “Hands on your knees, feet on the floor.  Keep your gaze on me.  Breathe steadily and regularly, from your stomach.”_

_I did as he instructed.  It was a bit of a strain to keep my eyes looking up into his, but I did it._

_Don’s voice became silky.  He talked in near-constant stream, telling me how much I would relax, how pleasant it would all feel.  As he spoke, I felt my body gradually turn into something which felt like a giant noodle.  I felt warm, refreshed, and peaceful.  Soon I was struggling to keep my eyelids open._

_And then… at some point, my eyes closed and never reopened.  I drifted away, unconcerned, blissful, loving the powerful relaxation flowing through my body.  I was aware of everything, yet cared about nothing.  I lost track of time._

_“There,” I heard Don say at some point.  “She’s under.”_

_“Mah word,” Wendy said._

_“What can you make her do?” asked Sal._

_Don spoke to me some more, telling me what would happen when I woke up.  I listened to it all, completely unconcerned._

_And then I was awake, blinking my eyes.  I found myself totally convinced that my butt was glued into my chair… then that there was a swarm of butterflies in the room… then that I would jump up and dance whenever Don said a certain word._

_The wildest experience was this: at one point, I opened my eyes and I realized I was actually Marylyn Monroe.  Sal was JFK.  I sang “Happy Birthday” to him, making sure to make it as breathy and sexy as possible.  Of course I would do this; I was Marylyn Monroe.  Duh._

_While in Don’s spell, I did and believed all of these things he told me without any hesitation.  So weird._

_Eventually I heard William The Boss say, “Okay, I think that’s enough.  Bring her out.”  He sounded annoyed._

_Don’s voice filled my mind:  “Chrissie, when I next wake you up, you will open your eyes remembering_ **nothing** _from today’s hypnotism.  You will be solidly convinced that hypnosis is a crock and only weak-minded fools believe it can work.  The more people prod you on this, the more convinced you are that hypnosis is totally fake.”_

_He counted from one to five.  When I heard five, I opened my eyes._

*********************

Still lying naked next to Don, I shook my head at this sudden memory.  Wait a minute, there was another one:

*********************

_I am at the office, earlier today.  In fact, I am on the phone with Don._

_I said, “I don’t know if I told you last night, but I write a regular column for City Paper and I was wondering if we could have coffee?  My readers would like to hear about your exciting life.”_

_Don chuckled.  “You’d be surprised,” he said._

_“Okay,” I said.  “So-“_

_“How are you feeling?” he interrupted._

_Odd question.  “Fine,” I reply._

_“You are feeling relaxed,” he told me.  His voice was different now; softer, slipperier._

_“…okay,” I said._

_“Just listen,” Don insisted.  “You are feeling relaxed, so relaxed.  When I give the word, your eyes will close, but you will keep the phone to your ear.”_

_I was feeling relaxed, but that was beside the point.  I opened my mouth to say something, when-_

_“_ **Sleep,** _” Don told me._

_My eyes closed, all on their own.  I was sitting at my desk, yet my body felt light, removed, as if I were floating on a cloud._

_“Listen to me carefully,” Don’s tinny voice said through the phone.  “You will agree to come to my show tonight.  During the show, I will call you up on stage.  At that time, you will go into a trance and you will obey me.  You will happily accept every command I give you.”_

_I listened, loving my relaxation.  I didn’t care what he was saying._

_“Two more things…” Don told me.  “You will wear sexy underwear for my show; this will seem natural to you and you will not be ashamed to do it.”_

_“Yes,” I heard my voice say woodenly._

_“Also, if I ask you whether you and I have met before, you will lie and say we have_ **not** _.  Do you understand?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Very good.  In a moment, I will count to five, and you will awaken, completely convinced that all we have discussed is you coming to my show, nothing more.  One… two… three… four… five!”_

_I started a little in my chair.  I must have daydreamed for a second.  Don’s voice was still on the phone._

_“I have an idea, though,” he was saying.  “I have an open show tonight at the Marcos Club.  Its off South Street.  Why don’t you come and watch from the back of the house?”_

*********************

Don studied me as I processed these new memories.  My face must have been very entertaining, because he laughed.

“That’s the weirdest experience, isn’t it?” he grins, then draws on his cigarette.  “I learned hypnosis from a girlfriend.  She would hypnotize me all the time, make me forget what I’d done, then make me remember a day or two later.”  He exhaled smoke.  “She loved doing that.”

“Wow,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

Don shifted.  “My arm’s falling asleep beneath you,” he grumbled, and struggled to free himself from me and sit up.

So I sat up next to him, sensing that our special time was over.  He took the cigarette from my hand and stabbed it out against the brick wall.

“Wait…” I said, knowing he was about to put me under.

“Don’t sweat it,” said Don.  “By this time tomorrow, you’ll remember me in an entire different way.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

“You’ll thank me for the hypnosis, believe it or not,” Don said.  “An hour in trance rejuvenates the body, but it also recharges one’s creativity.  You’re a writer, right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“When you wake up, you’ll have a flood of good ideas to work on,” he told me knowingly.

“But… I want to stay with you,” I plead.

“ ** _Sleep!_** ” Don commanded, and again I tumbled into a deep, relaxing blackness.

*********************

The following Monday, I am back at my desk, working the phones for my next interview.  I have at least four different ideas of columns bouncing about in my head; gotta work them all at the same time.

As I set down the receiver, William The Boss approaches my cubicle.  My latest column, “The Sex Lives of Stage Hypnotists,” is in his hands.

“Its good,” he compliments as I swing to face him.

I shrug.  In our interview, that Don the Hypnotist guy was mostly fluff.  He bragged about getting a lot of women in bed… but guys brag to me about their supposed conquests all the time.  I’d gone to his stupid show, sat in the back the whole time, and honestly, I can’t say I’m impressed.  A bunch of half-liquored people got up on stage and he convinced them to make fools of themselves.  Big deal.

“ _If Don the Hypnotist can score with women,_ ” I wrote, “ _it is because of his natural charisma.  In other words, its totally okay to look into his eyes, ladies._ ”

William The Boss nods at my notebook.  “Already on your next copy?” he said, pleased.

“Yeah,” I replied.  “I’ve already got the title:  ‘Are You Trying Enough Sexual Positions?’”

“Sounds promising,” William smiled, and let me get back to work.

 


End file.
